if i kick off my shoes and vacuum to this, am i in some way together with you, mix-tape-maker? these tracks are heavy with the non-presence of some memory of listening to them together, jumping around the kitchen or driving out to see the woods or getting warmer under a blanket, shifting around in our daydreams. i can’t decide: is this the sound of giant swaths of what i did not know, or what, if i concentrate gently like meditating, i can still discover?
kick off my shoes, put my sox to this dirty floor, pick up what i’ve carried in, gray on the bottoms of my feet – get the vacuum cleaner out, make the bed, do the dishes, mop, take this long sleeve shirt off, scrub the bathroom clean, get down on the floor with the remaining tracks, or, put those i have already heard back on, on repeat, pull out the study guide for the infamous GRE and enter calmly into some kind of studying with you, man. the evening is painted, the paint is on your hands and mine.